


on lovers lips

by simplyclockwork



Series: Tumblr Inspired/Prompted Sherlock Fics - Part One [47]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kiss, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24426625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/pseuds/simplyclockwork
Summary: Prompted by @hunninutqueerio on tumblr:sherlock stopping john after he tries to kiss him for the first time and says really quietly “john i want you to be very sure about what you’re about to do because once this happens i promise you i won’t be able to go back”
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Tumblr Inspired/Prompted Sherlock Fics - Part One [47]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1528859
Comments: 22
Kudos: 179





	on lovers lips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alienkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienkid/gifts).



> _soul meets soul on a lovers lips  
>  that kiss  
> the one  
> the only kiss  
> I lost my soul inside of you  
> and now I grope  
> in darkened depths alone  
> a well engulfed my thirsty plea  
> a storm a washed my identity  
> a kiss  
> the kiss  
> the only kiss  
> I lost my soul inside of you  
> return my being  
> my calm  
> my life  
> return my time  
> my sleep my dreams  
> my heart my life  
> return my kiss so I can find  
> the pathway down your soul to mine  
> I did not know,  
> soul meets soul on a lovers lips_
> 
> **Percy Bysshe Shelly**

The look in John’s eyes is picturesque. A perfect display for a step-by-step guide of ‘signs someone wants to kiss you.’ He’s standing close, closer than Sherlock remembers him ever being in a willing situation (getting locked together in a broom closet that one time doesn’t count). His eyes are dark, half-open, cheeks flushed. One hand is planted against the wall beside Sherlock’s waist, anchoring John in place as the fingers of his left hand hover inches from Sherlock’s jawline.

When John’s gaze drops to Sherlock’s lips, everything is clear, written obvious and stark on his flushed face. In the way his mouth opens, tongue sweeping out to wet his bottom lip. 

John begins to lean in, palm flat on the wall shifting to cup Sherlock’s back. His fingers finally touchdown on skin, brushing a butterfly-light caress over the jut of his jaw. 

Their faces inches apart, Sherlock closes his eyes. But, instead of bracing himself, parting his lips in acceptance, he speaks. Clears his throat and croaks, “John.”

At the sound of his name, John’s eyes flicker up to Sherlock’s, his gaze dark blue with the turmoil of a shipwrecking storm. Sherlock inhales, shallow and unsteady. John’s fingertips on his skin are points of volcanic heat. Molten, destructive, threatening to consume. 

“John, I want you to be very sure about what you’re about to do,” he whispers. Looking into John’s tempestuous eyes, Sherlock resists the urge to drown. “Because, once this happens, I promise you I won’t be able to go back.” Swallowing is a considerable struggle, his mouth dry, his throat a searing desert. 

John is silent. His breathing is a pattern of soft inhale, warm exhale against Sherlock’s chin. The hand cupping his jaw moves, rough palm catching on delicate skin. John’s thumb brushes his bottom lip. He traces the full curve before pulling it down gently. 

“I’m sure,” John breathes the words like the calm before the storm, electric, hair-raising. A hint of lightning in the cadence of his voice.

Sherlock’s response eases out like a sigh, eyelids suddenly heavy enough to flutter.“Oh.” His eyelashes cast spidery shadows over his cheeks, and John smooths a finger over each hinting obscuration. 

“Yeah,” John murmurs, lips shifting into a slight smile, “Oh.” 

With the words fading off his tongue, John closes the scant distance. The upward curve of Sherlock’s upper lip fits against John’s bottom lip, interlocking pieces of a puzzle. John’s hand, kneading slowly into the dip of his back, shoots unsteady voltage up his spine, the drag of fingers against silk a heady, hypnotic tether to his body. 

When they break apart, John’s tongue flicks out to taste the seam of his mouth before the distance separates them. Sherlock breathes through thunder and lightning. His lungs are aching, empty of air, filled with nothing but the taste of John and his own mouth's humidity. Fingers tracing the severe jut of a cheekbone, John smiles, slow and steady.

“No going back,” he says, tangling his hand in the curls at the nape of Sherlock’s neck. “Fine by me.” 

As often happens with all things concerning John, Sherlock is breathless, at a loss for words and reply. Instead of sputtering, instead of clumsily spitting nonsense, he closes his eyes and leans back into the taste of John’s mouth.


End file.
